Honest Hearts
by Pipeline
Summary: Post Halfblood Prince story about an adult Hermione in distress about her crumbling marriage to Draco Malfoy. He seems unenthusiastic about it all, but maybe Harry and Luna can help her save what is left of their relationship. At least for the children.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

The wind was taking up speed beyond the windows of their cozy, generously furnished home. It had been just a small breeze in the early afternoon, but as the day snailed on through arguments and resentment and tears it had turned to a persistent wind, forcing Thomas and Judy to go inside to play, and as the sun set at the purple horizon, it was nearing a storm. Hermione was gazing out of the window, trying to discern a shape or small movement other than the dancing trees and rose bushes that might be her husband returning from wherever he had stalked off to. Of course, he hadn't left the house on foot - he had used the fireplace in the parlour - and the darkness outside was so compact that she would not have been able to see anything at all out there, even if the lights had been out in the kitchen and she hadn't been distracted by her distraught reflection in the glass.

She could not understand what had gone wrong. What had started this whole circle of misery that had befallen her family. Perhaps the trigger was so far in the past that she could not remember it anymore. Perhaps they had been doomed ever since their very first encounter when they were both travelling up to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for their first year of magical education. She did not know. But the fact that they had started out as enemies, hating each other with deep intensity, may have been too stigmatizing to ever ensure a normal love life for them.

Yet Hermione had known many moments of joy and pleasure together with her husband, who surprisingly had proven to be a true, and very sweet, romantic. They had shared countless laughters, and they had always worked very hard on their marriage, always choosing to stay together. The love between them was true, and it was deep. Sometimes it was even wildly passionate, something that still, at the age of thirty-two, made her blush violently. But was their love deeper than their former hatred for each other? Could hatred ever really be extinguished, even by love - completely? Lately, Hermione had spent many anxious hours on these thoughts, these fears of ultimately being left by the man she loved. And her fears were not entirely uncalled for. Lately, they had also rowed more than they had ever done before. She knew that they were in a serious crisis - an acute change in their relationship. She just hoped that this change did not mean divorcing each other. She did not want that.

Sure, they had had their problems, just like any other couple, and they both displayed perfectly hot tempers once they got in an argument. Often about something utterly and disgustingly trivial, but all the same those small, unnecessary, stupid arguments turned into big rows. It was just so... stupid.

Hermione gave a resigned sigh and turned from the window, her arms crossed over her chest as if she was cold. Yes, a chill did travel down her spine, but it had nothing to do with the air temperature of the room. Lost in thoughts of horror and dismembered loved once, Hermione went over to the kitchen counter, took her wand from the pocket of her robe and began making a pot of vulgarly strong coffee. She would drink it black, suck up the fony energy that the caffeine would bring her and wait for her husband's return, even if it meant staying up all night.

"Mummy?" said a tiny voice from the doorway to the parlour.

Judy was standing in the doorway, dressed in her pink pajamas with her weed-loving bunny slippers and her overprotective teddybear Grasp squeezed under her arm. Her huge blue-grey eyes stared inquiringly at her, blinking in such a cute fashion that Hermione could not help but smile in spite of herself.

"Baby, you're supposed to be sleeping by now," she cooed, scooping up the little one from the floor. Grasp immediately began to reach for her with his rounded, fluffy teddy-arms, but Hermione ignored him. "What are you doing up this late? It's past eleven already."

Judy put her head on her mummy's shoulder. "I was waitin' fer Dad to get home," she murmured, and it was evident that she was very sleepy.

Hermione made a sound of affection. "Aw, that is so sweet of you, Judy. But Dad isn't going to come until late, there is no need to stay up for little girls like you. You know he'll come in and kiss you goodnight as soon as he gets here, and then you'll see him in the morning and you can play all day if you like. How does that sound? Hmm? Ready for bed now, love?"

With a happy, loving smile on her face, she put the little girl to bed, pulled her quilt up to her chin and kissed her on her forehead. "Now have some sleep, my little angel. Daddy will be back soon," she said, giving her daughter one last hug before leaving the room. Since Judy was a bit afraid of the dark, she conjured a firefly, big as a small bird, inside a glass jar as a nightlight for her daughter. With one last look on her porcelain face, she went downstairs to wait in the parlour.

The parlour was only lit by the lazy fire, and the room was dancing with suggestive shadows. Hermione sat in one of the armchairs, patiently watching the slowly dancing flames.

A few hours must have passed, because suddenly she was awakened by an upburst of green flames and a whoosh of sudden wind. Immediately alert, she stood erect on the floor, her heart thumping like a tiny hammer - pick pick pick pick.

A man was spinning in the green flames, and he was not at all difficult to identify. As soon as he had stopped spinning and got out of the fire, she ran up to him and threw herself around his neck.

"Draco!"

She hugged him hard, insistent on telling him through her touch that she had missed him, and that she loved him violently still. Sometimes she still saw in him that boy of seventeen that they had rescued from the lair of the Death Eaters, that poor misguided boy who had wanted glory, but having been fed lies and faced a threat of death merely had succeeded in gaining people's pity. For many years, that had plagued him, but with Hermione's insistence that everything was forgotten, that everything was forgiven, and that people regarded him as something of a hero, having survived all that torture that Voldemort had exposed him to, he had slowly, finally, begun to relax. His pain was eased with much love and caring - and quite a few admonishons.

His arms remained at his sides, his body stiff and unrelenting. It was more than obvious that he did not want to hug her back. Most likely he had not forgotten their row that afternoon. His unwillingness to embrace her made her blush in shame. Her heart pounded against her chest bone, an eternal reminder that she was not only alive, but also prone to panic attacks. What if this was the row that would finally split them up? Tear up their entire family, leave nothing left of the happiness they had once felt together? She didn't want to think about those things, because superstitiously enough she believed that thinking about them would magically make them real.

"Don't hold me," said Draco in an indifferent tone of voice. "Please."

She reluctantly let go of him. Watched him as he made his way towards the staircase to the upper floor. Hesitantly, she made to go after him. Then she changed her mind. A deep, desperate sigh of despair escaped her, and her shoulders slumped heavily on her body. Her head fell down onto her chest, her chin to her collar bone. "I knew it would come to this," she said in a defeated voice. "I knew it would be over, sooner or later. But I... I didn't want to actually believe it."

Tears came to her eyes and shook her body like a leaf, and she did not know how to stop. She just began sobbing, and her breathing became irregular, quick. It had been a while since she had felt this helpless, this defeated. She just knew that she would never be herself again.

Strong arms embraced her from behind, and she started. Draco was standing right behind her, slightly bent forward because of his height, his chin to her hair. She could detect his scent, the special smell that was him, and it made her dizzy with excitement for a short moment, high on pheromones. Then, he kissed the top of her head. Not lovingly, not longingly, but acknowledgingly, as if he was establishing to himself that yes, she did have a head under all that bushy brown hair. It felt odd, being kissed by her husband like that. So utterly deprived of all emotion. It made her shiver.

"Stay calm, Hermione," he was saying to her hair, "nothing is really over until it is over. Things might yet turn around."

With those words, he let go of her. Unable to turn around and face him, she stood still and waited for him to say something else. Anything. But preferably something that indicated that he wished to save their marriage, too.

"We had better keep doing this for a while, for the children," he continued, now backing away from her judging by the sounds of his feet on the cold wooden floor. "I'll sleep in the guestroom tonight. Leave you to sort out those feelings. We'll talk more in the morning."

He went for the stairs. She imagined him stopping a few steps up as he called down to her in a soft voice, as if just remembering something. "Oh... goodnight, Hermione."

And she was left to her silent tears, streaming down her flaming hot cheeks, painting her pale skin a luminescent silver in the milky moonlight.

* * *

**A/N: **I just want to say that this was written before I read the seventh and last book, so it is a post-halfblood-prince-story. Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Hermione lay awake in their bed, alone, trying hard to remember the last time they had slept apart. It must have been that time when he went on a business trip to France, Hermione thought, the one where he was supposed to be staying away for three nights. She loved France and would definitely have loved to go with him, but she had the children to think about. With them, she could go nowhere, and they had said a reluctant goodbye. When she had gone to bed that night, it had felt weird. Beyond weird. There had not been a single night before that one _for the past five years_ that they had not slept together in their generous kingsize bed. She had fallen asleep around midnight, exhausted, and been awakened again at half one.

Draco had sneaked down under the covers and snuggled up to her, causing her to stur in her troubled sleep, and with a soft kiss on her ear she had been wide awake. "Draco!" she had breathed. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in France!?"

The sweetest smile had curled his lips. "Nobody said anything about having to _sleep_ there. I'll be back in the morning, before anyone realises I've been missing."

This time was different. This time he did not come to her in the middle of the night, snuggling down like a lovesick little puppy. This time the house remained quiet, except for the frequent creaks of the settling wood, like a heartbeat for the whailing wind-beast outside.

This time she was left to herself, and that's when she realised that it might not be temporary - that this might be just a preview of an imminent future in which she would be all alone, and her husband would be forever lost to her. If that happened... she didn't how to go on. What about the children? What would they do about the children? Would they separate them, take one each? Or would he leave them in her responsibility, to take care of and provide for? She didn't even have a real job! Or what about the complete opposite? He could take the children and move out of the house, and she may never get to see any of them again.

The thought of it made Hermione squirm with distress and deathly fear, and she tossed and turned in the bed for almost an hour, her fear rising steadily until it had grown into a paranoid, desperate terror. When the digital clock on her nightstand glowed a green 02:43, she abandoned sleep and went down to the kitchen, where she took down a huge box of cauldron cakes from a cupboard. She sat at the table, determinedly chewing down cake after cake, staring out into infinity. It was all a blank to her. The future was as indescernable as the crystal balls in Professor Trelawny's classroom had always been. And she hated it.

A small bitter and self-loathing laughter escaped her. I'm sitting at the kitchen table wolfing down cauldron cakes in the middle of the night, she thought to herself. That's a first.

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she stubbornly bit her lip. She would _not_ cry.

But then she did. And all went black.

* * *

"Mummy? Mummy, wake up, I'm hungry."

"Yeah, me too!"

The tiny voices woke her up, but she felt as if she was still asleep. _So_ tired... The children were standing beside her at the table, their faces a cute anticipation. She just had to laugh at them. "Oh you!" she said, getting up from the table despite the pain in her back, neck, shoulders, and rear end. She caught them in her arms and hugged them. "I love you guys, do you know that?" she murmured in their hair.

They giggled nervously. "Mummy," Thomas said with embarrassment. He was seven, so he was starting to get aware of the fact that parents were good to have around the house, but that they should stay at an armslengths' distance if there were other people around. His playmates had apparently taught him that it was embarrassing to hug one's parents - or anyone else for that matter. But Hermione didn't care - she hugged him anyways.

"Where's Daddy?" Hermione asked them.

"He went to work," Thomas told her matter-of-factly.

"Said he was in a hurry," Judy put in imortantly, "but that he would be back for dinner and bring me something nice from Diagon Alley on his way back."

Hermione jerked involuntarily when Thomas said that Draco had already left, but immediately hid her discomfort from the children. They need stability, she reminded herself. Stability. Right. "Okay," she said, "who wants breakfast?"

After clearing the table, Hermione decided to go out. Getting out of the house might help her sort out her thoughts. And she knew exactly the place to go.

"Mummy, where are we going?" Judy asked when Hermione promptly dressed her children for the chill, wind-swept landscape outside.

"We're going to visit Uncle Harry," she told them as cheerfully as she could manage. "Would you like that?"

"Yeeeeey!" both the children shrieked. "Uncle Harry!" Judy exclaimed and set off for the parlour fireplace. She had almost reached it when Hermione said, "No, we're not using the fireplace. I thought we'd go out into the lovely autumn day and walk there, it's not that far. We can play in the puddles of water on our way there. How does that sound?"

"Yey, playtime!" Judy cried out. She was such an easy-to-please child, five years old and perfectly happy with anything thrown to her. Like a dog. It was one of the things that Hermione loved most about her daughter, and it always made her smile. Thanks to that little girl, she had a wonderful time walking the half mile to Harry's house, and she didn't once think of Draco and their swiftly crumbling marriage. She was happy, and she was young again. The marvels that children could present you with...

Harry was surprised to see them all standing on the porch, their hair on end because of the occasionally hooting wind, when he opened the door. "Hermione," he said, taking in her wind-blown appearance. "Um, come in." A great _Woof!_ sounded through the parlour adjacent the hall, and an equally great black dog followed. Overly excited, as always, it ran along the slippery wooden floor in happy desperation and leapt upon them in seconds. Upon touchdown, it began to lick their faces with its enormous pink tongue. Thomas and Judy laughed and tried to push the dog away from them.

"Frolic!" Harry said admonishingly, and the dog immediately retreated.

Frolic was the spawn of Fang the boarhound, Hagrid's meek but merry beast.

They sat in the dining hall, Hermione opposite Harry and the children beside her. Harry treated them to tea and homemade biscuits, probably made from one of Mrs. Weasley's recipes. Hermione carefully sipped her hot tea and looked around.

"Where's Luna?"

"Oh, she's outside. Catching Nargles with the kids." He gave her a wry, knowing smile.

She nodded. "I see. Well, I guess some things never change."

Harry had married Luna when he was nineteen, two years after defeating Lord Voldemort. Their sudden and violent love had surprised everyone - especially poor Ginny, who had believed that Harry and she would get back together as soon as that whole ordeal with the Horcruxes was over, but she had been wrong. By a twist of fate, Luna had been a vital part of the completion of Harry's mission, and apparently Harry had been immensely impressed with her amazing magical skills. He'd also claimed to be inevitably intrigued by Luna's mystified personality and the many odd things she said and did. Somewhere between awe of Luna's abilities and amused interest in her many quirks of personality, he had fallen in love. When he first told her and Ron about it they thought he was kidding. They had had to change their minds on that one when they started dating, though.

Ron had said with conviction that they wouldn't last a month once they had got married, but they had lasted thirteen years yet. And Harry seemed happier than ever.

Suddenly the patio door was opened and Luna entered, followed by the three boys that she had together with Harry. When she noticed Hermione at the table, she stopped dead and gave the guest a misty gaze. "Oh, hi Hermione. How nice of you to stop by. Would you like a Nargle?" She proffered a wicker cage that she had obviously made herself, and which was just as obviously empty. But as Hermione did not want to make Luna seem crazy or anything, she said nothing about it and simply shook her head. No, thanks. No Nargles in this home.

Luna put the cage on the end of the table farthest from Harry and Hermione and then sat down next to her husband, a dreamy and utterly solemn expression on her face. The boys were running around the room, shouting and brandishing toy wands, lost in play. Luna turned to them. "Boys, why don't you take Judy and Thomas up to your room and show them your new Pygmy Puffs?" she suggested, and the children immediately ran off for the stairs. She calmly turned to Hermione. "So, what's wrong?" she asked straightforwardly.

Hermione was baffled by her excellent perception. She must have seen something in her face, must have recognised it as distress and come to the conclusion that something was up. How could she look so distant and still be so clear-sighted?  
Harry, on the other hand, being the man that he was, had not perceived that anything was wrong with her - other than the fact that she had lost her sense of calling before coming to visit. Now he leant forward in his chair to have a better look at Hermione. "Something's wrong? What's wrong? Hermione, are you all right? Are you hurt or anything?"

She felt warm inside when she heard the worry in his voice. There was nothing else that she appreciated more in this world than his deep care for her because their friendship was so special. At the same time a twinge of pain temporarily seared her heart when she thought of Ronald. He had never been able to accept her relationship with Draco Malfoy, and he had declared war on them the very first moment Hermione announced that they were a couple. For years and years he had fought for her - in his own troll-like way - and finally, some years ago, cut off all contact with her. Their friendship obviously meant nothing to him at all.

Shaking off that painful memory, Hermione forced herself to focus on her current problem. "It's Draco," she said at once, forthright as she had always been.

A dark shadow settled over Harry's face and was quickly followed by a deep scowl. "Did he hurt you?" he asked fiercely, his old enimosity for Malfoy on the uprise anew.

Hermione shook her head. "Oh no. Well, at least not in the sense you mean. It's... It's our marriage. I think it is coming to and end."

She felt indescribably nervous when she peered at him.

He seemed taken aback. "Oh. Alright. I mean... that's _sad._" He nodded unconvincingly to himself.

Hermione smiled wrily. "Yeah, I know. Can't say I didn't anticipate it, though. Our relationship has been... tested... a number of times during our ten years together. There have been some hard times... and... and there has been some..." She searched for a neutral word. "... _opposition_ amongst our friends..." At this, Harry winced and displayed remorse at how he had first opposed to her relationship with Draco. In the beginning, he had taken the same side as Ron, though not as strongly as his ginger-haired friend. Knowing the emotional circus Draco had gone through on the night that Dumbledore had been murdered, knowing the utter terror that the Malfoy boy had showed _and_ knowing his incapacity for murder or anything of the like, he had soon come to see what Hermione had seen in him. Hermione continued, "But I never thought it would end like this." Tears were now streaming down her cheeks, her face screwed up in pain. "And I never _wanted_ it to end at all. I just knew..." She stopped abruptly. Sobbed drily. "I just knew."

Harry rose from the table and pulled her into his arms. He gently stroked her back. "There now, you're okay," he whispered in her ear, "you're okay. Don't worry about anything. I'll talk to him, see what he has to say about this. It might be easier for him to talk to someone else than to talk to you. He might not want to hurt you."

Hermione nodded. Yes, Draco would not want to hurt her. Harry had definitely understood what type of person Draco was. "Thank you," she said in less than a whisper. "Thank you."

Suddenly she became aware that Luna had also risen from the table to come to her side, because she was now standing right beside Hermione, an understanding smile on her dreamy face. "You should stay overnight, Hermione," she offered. But Hermione understood that it was less an offer and more an acknowledgement of something already agreed. "We can sit down and write a message for Draco in a while, tell him where you are so he won't worry. I can have one of my Nargles deliver it, although they do tend to tear any parchment to shreds if they come too close to it. Ah, well, he'd know the care you took in thinking about him once you get back home," she concluded with a small shrug of her shoulders.

The other two stared at her for a moment or two. Then Harry said to Hermione, "You can use Hedwig. She's upstairs."

Hermione thought she might just prefer that second offer to the first.

* * *

**A/N: **I just want to say that this was written before I read the seventh and last book, so it is a post-halfblood-prince-story. Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it. 

I would also like to thank the people who have added this story to their favorite stories, and who have added me to their list of favorite authors. I feel so honored! Thanx:D


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The words did not come easy. In fact, those few lines were the most difficult that Hermione had ever written, despite all the advanced classes that she had taken exams for in her life. There was no arithmetic formula or ancient spell definition that was harder or more strenuous to formulate than her message to Draco was at that moment. Even though she, technically, need only put down a few common words—"Love, were staying over at Harry's tonight, be back tomorrow, hugs from all three of us!"—her hand would freeze right before the tip of the quill touched the parchment, and she would have to work up her courage anew.

"Dear Draco…" she began, not noticing that she was actually saying the words out loud.

"Oh, is that your treat for the Nargle?" Luna's dreamy, drawling voice suddenly asked right next to her and made her jump high into the air. Apparently Harry's well-meaning wife had stolen into the room on ninja feet and now stood gazing over Hermione's shoulder with big, blinking eyes.

Treat for the Nargle. Nice way of putting it. I mean, it might just _only_ be the single most important message I ever send to my husband, Hermione thought ironically but sensibly kept her mouth shut about it. Draco had helped her to reign in the know-it-all, smartarse-retort part of her by way of loving banter and obnoxious teasing, so nowadays she could choose not to speak when she felt that speaking her mind may simultaneously mean hurting somebody else's feelings or annoying them half to death. A pang of anguish hit her squarely in the chest. _Draco…_ Would they ever be that happy, carefree couple again?

"Uhm… yes, as a matter of fact that is exactly what this is," she told Luna, guessing that a yea was more certain to give her some privacy than a nay. "Er, would… would you mind, Luna? I would really like some time alone to… make this personal, and… and… flattering, you know." She desperately hoped that Luna _would_ know, because Hermione sure as Hell did not.

The other woman lit up like a beacon on a starless night and delightedly clapped her hands together. "How wonderful! Of course, Hermione—take all the time you need. I'll go prepare the Nargles for their surprise!"

And she was out the door quicker than an arsonphobic who smelled fire.

Hermione emphatically shook her head. Sometimes she could not help but wonder what Harry could possibly see in her that was so fantastic he just _had_ to spend the rest of his life with her. But then again, most people had been known to wonder the exact same thing about her choice in life partner… So maybe she was not one to judge.

One painful hour later she had finally managed to put a note together for Draco and was ready to send Hedwig off with it. Harry was waiting for her in the owlery, a two-story tower that had been added to the house to accommodate Hedwig's needs, and she gave him a shy smile of thanks as she handed the letter over for him to tie to the snow-white owl's leg. "Take this to Draco Malfoy, will you?" he said, his voice low and loving, like he was talking to a very dear friend—a family member. Hermione had always admired his tender care for Hedwig. Not all wizards and witches treated their owls that well, sad to say.

As Hedwig took off and swooped out of one of the high open windows Harry turned to Hermione and offered her his arm. Laughing softly at his gentlemanliness, she put her hand on his forearm and allowed him to lead her back down the stairs. "You know, I don't get this Harry," she said.

He frowned slightly. "Get what?"

"This—this whole chivalry thing! I mean, don't get me wrong, but you weren't exactly the perfect gentleman when we went to school. I just find it hard to believe that the person you were then—the boy who always got into trouble and thought he could handle everything on his own—could turn into this understanding, considerate man who's so intent on seeing to the needs of the people you care about. Like I said, don't get me wrong… I am just _amazed_, Harry, at the person you have become. I always knew you were a good man, but still you manage to stump me."

He shrugged, one corner of his mouth turned up mirthfully. "I guess I grew up, didn't I?"

She hugged him. "You sure did." They continued down to the sitting room on silence. When they stopped in front of the settee she squeezed his arm. "I love you, Harry. Thanks… for all of this." The words were hardly more than a whisper, but his acknowledging nod told her that they had reached him. All energy now spent, she slumped down on the couch and closed her eyes.

* * *

The house was utterly quiet when he returned. Too quiet. At this hour of night Hermione would try to get the kids in bed, but as always they would be too high on adrenaline from the day's play to settle down, and her tired voice should have carried down to him, telling them to _go to sleep, please!_ That was such a common occurrence in their home that it had become routine. But not tonight.

Frowning, Draco stalked into the hallway, stopped temporarily below the stairs to listen. Still not a single sound. And when he reached the upstairs he learned why. There was no one there. Had things been as they should have lately he might have felt a pang of fear, of ominous foreknowledge, at finding his son's and daughter's beds empty and neatly made, worried half to death by the fact that his family had disappeared without a trace. But as it were, his frown merely deepened into a scowl as he went back downstairs. Hermione had not been herself lately—there was no saying what she might think she needed to do to find peace within herself again.

He planned to go back into his den, but a hooting stayed his feet. It had come from the kitchen. Doubling back a sense of urgency finally hit him.

Hedwig was sitting on the kitchen table, impatiently pecking at a note that had been tied to her right leg. Just as impatient, Draco unwittingly grabbed the message a little too eagerly and elicited a startled cry from the owl. Draco did not even notice. He ripped open the parchment and hastily read through the message.

_Draco love,  
the children and I are staying at Harry's tonight. Judy and Thomas were having  
so much fun playing with the triplets that I didn't have the heart to break them up.  
I would like to say that we'll return in the morning, but you know Harry: He'll insist  
we at least stay for lunch AND dinner. Anyway, we love you, see you tomorrow._

_Yours,  
Hermione_

He stared at the note, as if it could magically sprout teeth and tell him what was written between the lines here. Admittedly, that would not have been so surprising… But he had a feeling he should already know what Hermione had wanted to tell him but opted on leaving out. He felt like there were a lot of things that he should know, but no matter how hard he tried he just could not seem to grasp any of it. One minute their marriage had been perfect, and the next… One hellish downward spiral later they had reached a point where neither of them knew how to fight for it—how to make it all better and go back to normal—a point at which Draco had felt the need to seek comfort and security elsewhere.

And ironically, this particular day, when he had prepared himself for an undoubtedly painful "talk" with Hermione that could only result in further estrangement, he had been given a golden opportunity to indulge in that comfort again. Waving off the annoying owl, he went back into the study and threw a handful of Floo Powder into the fire. A second later he stuck his head into the raging green flames and called out, "Darling, guess who's home alone tonight?"

* * *

After a long day of games and magical "accidents," it was no hard job for Hermione to put her children to bed; they were practically sleeping on their feet when she steered them to the guestroom where they would be sleeping. She gently tucked them in and kissed their little foreheads before retreating to the doorway, where she remained standing for a while, just watching them sleep so peacefully. They looked so innocent. And she may even turn out to be the one to burst their bubble of security and steal their childish innocence away. Hermione Granger—wrecker of the perfect family.

She started at her own thought. Hermione Granger… She hadn't thought of herself as "Hermione _Granger_" in a decade. Even before they actually got married she had fancied herself Hermione Malfoy, loving how the name sounded _so right._ And now she realised that she was already certain that she'd be forced to go back to being a Granger again.

"Come on, let's go downstairs and have some tea," Harry suddenly said right next to her and comfortingly put a hand on her shoulder. At first she did not really know what to do, but then she let him lead her down to the sitting room. Next thing she knew she was desperately squeezing a steaming hot mug of tea in her hands almost to the point of squashing it. Her knuckles were white, bone showing through from the strain of clamping them so tightly around the pottery. Panic was rising within her again, an emotional tsunami that was sure to wash her mind and soul far, far away to a place where nothing would ever matter again. Her world without Draco would be a wasteland—the scraps and dregs left behind after an enormous tornado.

She could not live without him. She just could not.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **I'd just like to say a huuuge thank you to all of you who have reviewed this story and/or put it on story alert - that really makes me happy and gives me that essential push to keep going with it. Please do continue to let me know what you think of it. ^^

* * *

**Chapter 4**

When she finally went to sleep she dreamt of how they had met—_really_ met, away from school and all the prejudices about each other that everything had given birth to. It had been on an unusually hot spring day back when she was nineteen and in her second year of Healer school. There was a public library down at the Ministry of Magic, mostly frequented by students and ministry employees, and she had been looking for a certain book on how to mend bones when he had caught her eye. At first she had only seen him from a distance too great for her to make out his features, but he had been tall and mysterious and absolutely gorgeous. It had only taken seconds before she could no longer make do with simply watching him from afar, and carefully she had moved closer, shelf by shelf so as not to get caught staring at him. When she had actually come close enough for his identity to become clear she had been stunned immobile. _Draco Malfoy?_ And she'd been _checking him out!_

That had not been the only time she spotted him at the library, of course. Once she had happened upon him there she could not help to search for him with her eyes every time she needed to go back there for another book—and rather soon she found herself making up reasons to borrow more literature on various diseases and whatnot, telling herself that the medical and magical encyclopaedias she owned herself were not good enough. Every time she saw his lean figure her heart skipped a beat and her cheeks began to burn. She just could not help herself. She knew what he had been like back at Hogwarts, how he had treated them all and the fact that he had joined the Death Eaters and tried to kill Dumbledore—yet she found it impossible to make herself lose her ridiculous interest in him.

What was more was that he seemed to be equally unable to ignore her. After three weeks of silent staring and embarrassed blushing when their eyes met across the room she ventured to sit at the same reading table as him. She did not do anything, did not say anything, but simply sat there and made an effort to pretend to check for facts in all the Healing books she had pulled together from a dozen different shelves. Waiting with her heart painfully pounding in her suddenly tight chest for something to happen.

"Those look awfully boring," he suddenly commented and made her jump a little in her chair.

She dared a glance at him and felt like she was melting when his pale grey eyes bore into hers with an intensity that was both exposing and sexy. It was as if he could see right through her. "They're actually quite okay," she found herself replying—not exactly her brightest moment, but probably better than her usual know-it-all approach to everything…

"Ah," Draco said as if he knew exactly what she meant. "Well, I guess the fact that I can't even understand their titles is making me somewhat biased."

She laughed shyly.

Silence once more settled between them, and for a few minutes he concentrated on his own books. Then he said, "You going to school, then?"

She looked up at him again. "Healer school," she confirmed. "What about you? You seem to come here a lot—are you studying as well?"

"Yeah, law and history of magic. I actually hope to be able to work here at the Ministry once I get my diploma." He said it as if that was something to be ashamed of and turned his face away, maybe to hide a blush. She was instantly filled with a desire to make him more comfortable again, to make him feel at ease with her, and so she boldly reached out her hand and put it on top of his. "That sounds admirable," she said with heartfelt honesty. "I could never cope with being cooped up down here for more than a few hours, so that is quite… commendable." She even tried a little smile.

When he met her gaze again those grey pools of eyes seemed to suck her in like vortexes.

And she was lost.

* * *

In her schoolgirl fantasies Hermione had always imagined her encounter with true love to be followed by months of careful, romantic and innocent courtship that would ultimately lead to the question, "Hermione Granger, would you like to be my girlfriend?" What actually happened could not have been more contrary. After their first real conversation in the library Draco asked her out a late dinner—they had been sitting there until closing and were quite ravenous, after all—but she hardly even noticed eating anything at all. It seemed only natural that she should accompany him to his flat, and even more natural that she should also accompany him to his bed. Never before in her life had she wanted someone so bad, and waking up next to him the following day was so right she could not understand how it could have taken her so long.

They were simply meant to be.

A soft giggle erupted from her throat. "I don't know what's got into me," she said, lying naked next to him with her head resting on his manly chest, feeling perfectly safe. "I've never done this before."

"You were a virgin?" he asked bluntly. That only made her laugh even harder. No one but Draco Malfoy could be that ignorantly forthright.

"No," she assured him, "I was not a virgin, and I am surprised that you would think that, considering…"

He chuckled with dark delight. "Ah, yes, that little trick of yours… That did finish me on the spot. Tell me, is that something of your own devious device or did Weasley teach it to you?"

"Weasley? What—Ron? Oh no! I mean, yeah we dated for a while, but it only lasted as long as the war, and we never... But forgive me, I shouldn't talk about that now, you don't want to hear about those things…" Hermione was well aware that men liked to think that they were their women's only lover and that no one could ever compare to their masterful performances and did not want to risk losing Draco right after finding him just because he wasn't her first sexual experience.

"But I do, love," Draco interjected, and to her surprise his content smile had not changed. He was still looking at her with adoring eyes. "I want to hear everything about you, every single word that you are willing to tell me." She blushed. "So, do go on, if you don't mind. Did someone else teach you that marvellous piece of magic then?"

Hermione shook her head in resignation. "You are sure proving to be something else, Draco Malfoy. There has been a few other blokes, yes, but alas they taught me nothing—besides the necessity to fake it. That was just something that I… always wanted to do, you know. I just never had anyone I wanted to do it _to_ before." And she winked conspiratorially at him.

He laughed. Oh, how she loved his laugh! In it was contained the greatest joy that the world had ever heard of, and it was hard to believe that this man had ever known despair. With him it was easy to forget—and easy to feel secure.

It had made her vulnerable; unprepared for her current predicament.

* * *

Harry left early that morning to pay Draco a visit, knowing that Ministry officials never got much of a lie-in. He was not really much of a conflict manager, but he had promised Hermione he'd talk to her husband and he never broke his promises. Besides, he had come to like Draco once he'd got past his prejudices and old-habit-hatred. It had become clear that Malfoy was good for Hermione, and that was good enough for Harry. He would hate to see them drift apart.

Since he did not want to impose on or disturb Draco he decided to walk over. Their houses were close enough to each other for some leg exercise anyway.

He trotted up to the door and knocked distinctly. Waited a few seconds, and when there was no sound of footsteps from the other side of the door he knocked again, a little louder this time.

Still no sign of life. Had he left already?

On any normal day he would simply have shrugged it off and returned home, but this particular time was different. This was for Hermione, the best friend who had saved his arse on countless occasions—he just could not let her down. Therefore he tried the door and was rewarded with a soft hiss of slightly unoiled hinges and it swung open before him.

"Draco?" Harry stepped inside and slowly closed the door behind him.

The sound of a shower running came from upstairs, so it was quite apparent why Draco had not heard him knocking. Harry considered going back outside and do the whole procedure over in ten minutes—he certainly did not fancy seeing Malfoy naked or something, ugh—but decided against it. If Draco went to work before Harry had time to knock anew Hermione would flog him when he came back. So instead he waited below the stairs.

Hardly a minute went by before the shower stopped. Harry drew in a long breath to call out to Draco when the sound of a woman laughing interrupted him.

What the…?

Was there someone else up there with him?

Sure that there must be an explanation—there _must_ be for Merlin's sake!—but cold with dread inside he hurried up the stairs towards the second floor bathroom. As he reached it Draco stepped out, his upper body still a bit damp and a towel wrapped around his hips. He stopped short when he noticed Harry just outside the door, and the smug smile faded from his lips. Had he not been so ludicrously pale already Harry would have thought that he lost his colour.

They stood like that, staring at each other, for a short while before Draco's companion exited the bathroom, wearing a pink frothy robe. Her still-wet hair was proof enough of what was going on.

He fixed Draco's eyes with a look of utter disgust and disapproval. "So this is what you've been doing while Hermione's been crying her eyes out over you not even wanting to talk to her to work things out," he declared, indignant wrath building up inside him. "And here I thought you had finally become a man, Malfoy." He unconsciously reverted to his old self around Draco.

The blond crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. "And what's it to you?" he demanded.

Harry felt as if he'd just been slapped. "What's it to me?" he echoed, beside himself with fury. "Hermione is my friend, Draco—and you are shagging another woman while she's caring for your children and trying to figure out what the bloody hell went wrong between you so she can make it better!"

Draco snorted. "Make it better? Why should she care about that now, after everything she's done?"

"Everything _she's_ done? You're the one committing adultery!"

"She shut me out! Okay? She just turned everything off when it happened as if it had never been there—have you ever wondered what that would feel like for a man? Huh? When his wife turns all cold all a sudden and treats you like air, and then when she realises you're still alive—that you're still there—she just looks at you as if she's thinking it was sad to have wasted so many years on this. You wanna know why this came to be? Ask your _friend._"

"You're just saying that to justify your own sins!"

"Draco, maybe I should go," the woman suddenly cut in, and Harry's head automatically whipped around to face her. That was when he recognised her. "_Parvati?_" he breathed incredulously, as if the fact that he knew her was a personal insult of Draco's.

She blushed scarlet and fled down the hall, slamming the bedroom door behind her.

That was the last drop.

"You keep her _in your own bedroom?_" he hissed. "Where _Hermione_ sleeps?" And before he knew it his hand had flown out and hit Draco in his left eye. Harry only noticed it when his knuckles registered the pain. But that was not enough: He wanted to beat him up so bad he wouldn't be able to walk for weeks—so bad he would not be able to shag his mistress anymore—and that scared him. So before he could commit murder or worse he Disapparated back to his own house.

* * *

Hermione woke up only a few hours after really falling asleep, but somehow she still felt rather rested thanks to the dreams. She found Luna in the kitchen, making breakfast. "Good morning," she said in her usual dreamy voice. "Would you like some tea? I make it on the herbs from the garden."

"Thanks Luna, I would love a cup." She sat down at the kitchen table. "Where's Harry?"

"Oh, he went over to your house to speak to Draco I think," Luna informed her in a tone of voice that effectively added a "but that's not important" to her statement. She was just about to pour the tea from the kettle, too, when Harry suddenly appeared next to her. Had it been anyone else that person would have jumped high into the air and dropped the steaming hot tea, but not Luna. She merely stood there smiling absent-mindedly at her husband, as if he had been there all along.

At his arrival Hermione hurtled out of her chair. "Harry! What— Where— How was, I mean, what did he say, did you manage to talk to him?" she reeled off. "Did you… Harry? Is something wrong? You look like you want to strangle someone."

"No, I'm fine," he protested, but his voice was a bearish growl. "Nothing you need to worry about."

She frowned. "Well, it is obvious that that's a lie, so why don't you tell me the truth?"

Silence stretched out between them. When Harry finally broke it he sounded hesitant, guilty, and he ran his hand through his hair repeatedly. "Honestly Hermione… I don't think you want to know," he said, and his voice was so low, so sympathetic—pitying—that she knew she had to go there; she had to see for herself. At the last moment he realised what she was about to do and grabbed at her in a vain attempt to stop her. "Hermione, no—!"

But she was already there, already standing outside their bedroom—_their bedroom!_—with a perfect picture of just what was wrong right there before her eyes. For next to the bed stood Draco, his arms protectively draped around none other than Parvati Patil, who worked for a different department of the Ministry than Draco, and he was whispering sweet nothings to her—to soothe _her_.

It was maybe fifteen or twenty seconds before he realised that she was there, but when he turned his head to look at her it was with a face completely devoid of emotion. As if he felt nothing for her anymore.

Tears fell from her blurred eyes. "You son of a bitch!"


End file.
